


Real Good Place

by sundancekid



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundancekid/pseuds/sundancekid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But you better not be as uptight as these idiots about me shooting beer cans on the roof. 'Ohhhh, it hurts my ears, the neighbors called the cops, you almost hit me.'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Good Place

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to wordplay for the beta.
> 
> Written for Care

 

 

_Kids, this is your Aunt Robin. Shut up, I'm telling you a story. I know your dad's stories suck, but mine don't. How old are you, fourteen? Want a beer while I talk? What, Ted? What is so wrong with that? Geez, what a geezer, right, guys?_

Anyway, during the fall of 2008, I was unemployed and didn't have an apartment, my job in Japan having not really worked out. I was living with your Aunt Lily and Uncle Marshall, but they were way lame and shoved me off on your dad, who had a spare bedroom. I was feeling kind of depressed at the time, and I turned to my usual comforts -- bad TV, beer and ice cream, and shooting things. The first two didn't really bother anyone, but everybody had something to say about the shooting. You Americans are so weird about that -- it's okay to shoot each other, but not a couple beer cans? Please.

This is the story of how everybody got over that.

1.

"You know, they allow us up here but we're really not supposed to be shooting stuff," Ted says. Robin's been staying with him for three days, and during that time she's showered once and has yet to change out of her pajamas. She's started Tivoing _The View_ on his TV, and last night they were up until 2 watching reruns of it. Ted swears he wasn't tearing up during the segment about dogs who can sniff out cancer, but he totally was.

Robin ignores him. She continues to adjust her grip; the beer can is within her sights. "You should try it, you know," she tells him. "You might feel better."

"Oh, right," Ted says. "Because shooting things cures all ills. I told you, I am _from Ohio_. That is not how we do things."

"At least in Canada we don't shoot each other. I've noticed that's an issue for Americans."

Ted huffs.

"Here," Robin says, holding out the gun, butt pointing toward Ted. "Give it a try."

"I am not _shooting_ anything," Ted says.

"I know people shoot things in Ohio, Ted. I heard about Maurice Clarett."

"I'm not taking the gun, Robin. You know how I feel about guns."

"Ted, your life sucks nearly as much as mine does. You got left at the altar. Take the gun and shoot the can. You'll feel better."

Ted refuses. Sometimes Robin really misses Ted; living with him has reminded her of a lot of things she likes about him -- the way he smells, the way he doodles on every available scrap of paper, the way he provides a challenge at Guitar Hero but never actually beats her. Ted is at least fifteen percent girl, even more than the average New York guy, but he's funny and warm and a really great hugger. You know, when she feels like hugs, which is about ten percent of the time he feels like it. More like five, really.

Robin adjusts her stance, slightly widening her legs as she takes aim again. She pulls the trigger, and the can goes _ping!_ and crumples. Ted winces and yelps.

Robin suppresses a sigh. Twenty percent girl.

She lines back up. The second can goes _ping!_ She pretends it's Sandy from her old job at Channel 1. Third can, same. She pretends it's her boss in Tokyo. Fourth can is the chimp. Fifth is Gael. Sixth is supposed to be her dad, but when she misses she retroactively makes it Marshall.

"You're a really good shot," Ted says, and Robin can tell he's a little bit impressed.

"I've been shooting since I was four," she points out. "Father-son bonding."

"My dad and I went to Indians games and didn't talk," Ted says. "Ah, summer in Ohio."

"We didn't talk either," Robin points out. "Guns are kind of loud." She looks back at Ted, whose hands are in his pockets, shoulders hunched; he's leaning toward her slightly.

"You sure you don't want to try?" she asks.

Ted hems and haws for like, _ever_ , even though Robin can completely tell that he wants to, before agreeing to take the gun. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger like it's hot, until Robin points out that's actually really not safe and he should just hold onto the damn thing for real.

Robin finally gets Ted in the right stance (and whatever, it's not awkard running her hands along his arms and hips and thighs to help him adjust) and shows him how to line up the pistol.

"Be prepared for a little recoil," Robin says.

He get the can right through the label, a really good shot. Not that Robin is ever going to admit that.

He drops the pistol, though, and cries about how his shoulder hurts. She eventually goads him into trying again (she does end up telling him it was a good shot, and he confesses that it felt really satisfying, "right before the PAIN"), and he misses every other can, whimpering every time he fires.

Twenty-five percent girl.

2.

Robin's lining up cans when Barney pokes his head up the fire escape.

"Scherbatsky," he says, swinging over the top of the steps.

"I heard about the building," Robin tells him, not looking up from her line of empty Molsons. "Lily told me."

"She starts Christmas way too early. It's not even December yet!"

"It did sound really cool," Robin says. "Even though a dinosaur's brain is really tiny."

Barney smells like cigars and alcohol, and he's wearing a gray suit Robin has always thought was really flattering. Some days it's hard to remember why he's such a bad idea. Of course, some days she just turns her underwear inside out while she's sitting on the toilet and wears them again, because showering and getting dressed seems like too much bother. Robin is aware that right now is not her best decision-making time.

"Eh, I'm over it. I totally had sex in a stretch Hummer, so I got that knocked off my list -- I decided to differentiate between regular limos and Hummer limos, just to give myself a challenge. That girl had knockers out to _here_."

Some days it's easier to remember why he's such a bad idea.

"Hey, how many of those can you hit in a row?" Barney asks.

"Eight, most days." There are ten lined up.

"I can do nine." Barney makes the grabby hands motion towards Robin's pistol, sitting on the table.

"Please." Barney has some unusual skills, but Robin is confident that he can't outshoot her.

Barney can only hit three, and at least one of those is pure luck.

"Better than Ted," Robin says. They're parked in lawn chairs now, drinking beers (strictly in order to replenish their supply of cans, of course). "He only hit one, and it scared him. He shrieked like a girl."

"Yeah he did," Barney says, laughing and clinking his can with Robin's. He pulls two cigars out of his suit pocket and his hands are warm when he leans in to light hers. And when the street light goes out suddenly, Barney doesn't even laugh when Robin shrieks.

3.

Lily is still upset about Robin becoming a woo girl. She's been making lots more time for the two of them, even on nights Marshall isn't working late. So they're sitting on the balcony, during a night that's unusually warm.

"There's something to be said for global warming," Robin says, sipping her beer. "A night like this, that's worth a polar bear or two."

"I'll drink to that," Lily says, clinking her bottle against Robin's. "Only Marshall would be so mad if he heard me say that. He still hasn't given up on being an environmental lawyer. Goliath is just a way to make some money right now."

"I need that," Robin says. This is her fifth beer -- or is it her sixth? _Heads or Tails_ was boring today, she needed some help getting through it. "I like money. Money buys me an apartment that doesn't belong to Ted. Money buys shoes."

"Shoes," Lily breathes.

They've been sitting in silence for a few minutes, and Robin's just thinking about how rarely they're silent together, about how with Lily she talks more and cares about things she wouldn't otherwise, when Lily asks, "Can I shoot a can?"

Robin sits up in her lawn chair, which is difficult. "Really? But you hated it at your place."

"Well, yeah, at my place. But I don't live here. If Ted's neighbors want to call the cops, they can." Robin has always admired the way that Lily, easily her most moral friend, has some odd loopholes.

Robin ducks back into her bedroom to grab her pistol, and when she gets back up to the balcony, Lily's lining up cans on the edge of the wall. (Robin's taken to keeping the empties in a box behind a planter. Ted was complaining about the line of them around the top of the kitchen cabinets. Girl.)

"You can't tell Marshall about this, okay?" Lily says. "He really doesn't approve of guns. He's like Ted about it."

"Yeah, totally," Robin says, busying herself digging through the cans, trying to make as much noise as possible and not look at Lily because she definitely never took Marshall to the shooting range when Lily broke up with him and he definitely didn't really enjoy it, even a little more than Robin thought was appropriate.

Robin is about tell Lily how to hold the gun, but suddenly Lily's standing with her feet shoulder-width apart and her finger on the trigger guard.

"How many can you hit?" Lily asks, sighting the first can.

"Eight."

Lily hits all ten. "I was a Girl Scout."

"I didn't think there was a shooting badge in the Girl Scouts."

"There's not. My mom was the troop leader, so it was a feminist troop. We learned to shoot during the self-defense badge. That was after the negotiating badge -- we averaged twelve dollars a box for our cookies."

They line up another row, and Lily takes out all ten of those, too. Robin never does tell Marshall, not even after the goat thing, when she takes Lily to the range and Lily blows through five clips in half an hour.

_Kids, there's a moral to this story: shooting stuff helps you feel better. Now come on, Aunt Robin will take you to the range. Shut up, Ted._

 


End file.
